


let me feel i'm falling safely to the ground

by natscribbles (nat_scribbles)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Drug Addiction, I think? I'm not sure on Canadian laws but this happens when they are in the Q so, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Panic Attacks, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, but they both want it they just don't talk about it, tagging this because these boys don't know how to use their words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:06:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6345145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nat_scribbles/pseuds/natscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kent doesn't know which what ifs are more dangerous, can't tell which ones hurt the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me feel i'm falling safely to the ground

**Author's Note:**

> you know that feeling when you've been in a fandom for over a year and yet you haven't written for it yet?
> 
> anyway, this was a thing that I wrote because I was stuck for hours on a train.
> 
> title from Long Nights, by Eddie Vedder. 
> 
> Warnings and disclaimers:  
> Baby Jack Zimmermann with a puck on his butt knows more about hockey than I do. There isn't much hockey here at all, but if anything is too inaccurate, feel free to tell me.  
> also English isn't my first language and this isn't beta'd, so if you wanna point out mistakes, knock yourself out.
> 
> characters belong to the wonderful Ngozi, who has ruined all our lives forever, bro.

Look, Kent's an asshole, he knows that, but he's a good asshole. He takes one look at Zimmermann and decides that yeah, that's gonna be a good move, before he's even shaken hands with the guy.   
  
It all makes sense, okay? He knows they will be in the same line, it would be stupid not to put them together, so the sooner he gets to know him, the better. Also, his father is Bad Bob Fucking Zimmermann. So, sue him for wanting to play better and do PR at the same time.   
  
Kent may be an asshole, but he's a practical one.   
  
-_/   
  
Zimmermann is actually okay. The rest of the guys seem to think he's too uptight, but Kent has seen the quirk of his lips, a tiny smile, at some of the chirps that fly around. He's just shy, maybe. Seems to only care about hockey.   
  
Well, Kent can understand that much.    
  
\\_-   
  
He wakes up at the asscrack of dawn and it's fucking freezing, the air a sharp slap to the face because fucking Canada, and yet Zimmermann's already there when he gets to the rink.   
  
Damn.   
  
And it's not like he thinks Zimmermann is all last name and no talent, but it still shocks him that he works so much, so hard.   
  
Like Kent.   
  
He changes quickly and when he steps onto the ice, Zimmermann nods at him, something like approval in his eyes.    
  
It makes Kent feel like the Canadian cold may be worth it after all.    
  
\\_-_/   
  
Kent is really fucking good at hockey, always has been. He's fast and precise, like an arrow. An arrow that twists and curves and makes risky plays work.   
  
Kent was really fucking good at hockey. Now though? Now that he's on Zimmerman's wing, he's unstoppable. They're unstoppable.    
  
_/-\\_   
  
"Yo, Zimms!"   
  
Jack turns around and wrinkles his nose at the nickname. Kent cracks up. He has enough time to catch the Rare Zimmermann Smile™ before Jack's facing away from him again.    
  
-_/   
  
It's not like Kent doesn't know he's into guys, he is definitely not having a Big Gay Revelation Freakout. It's just that, well, thinking Wolverine is hot is one thing and wanting to hold his linemate's hand and do disgustingly cute shit together is another.   
  
It doesn't help that they are together all the time, on and off the ice.    
  
Kent knows he's fucked when he wakes up after dozing off to a boring World War II movie and his head is pillowed on Zimms' chest and there's an arm around his waist and when he shifts and looks up Zimms makes this snuffling sound and furrows his brows and the arm around Kent tightens and yeah, he's fucked, all right.   
  
\\_-   
  
Let it be known, Kent Parson is an asshole and a coward.    
  
He knows he should tell Zimms, owes him that much. They are best friends, linemates, roommates on the road, brothers from another mother, you name it.   
  
They are Zimms and Parse.   
  
Kent owes him the truth, but he's also terrified because he knows Jack is a good guy and won't push him away or out him (and how fucked up that the first possibility is scarier than the second one when hockey has always been his entire world) but what if.   
  
What if.   
  
\\_-_/   
  
The thing about what ifs is, they are unlimited.    
  
Yeah, sure, there are the ones where Jack looks at him with horror and disgust in his face, where he never passes the puck to him ever again, where his locker gets painted with slurs.   
  
But.   
  
There are the what ifs where Jack smiles that soft, gentle smile Kent has only seen a couple of times, where Jack reaches for his hand, where Jack leans down and meets him halfway with his lips, where...   
  
Kent doesn't know which what ifs are more dangerous, can't tell which ones hurt the most.    
  
_/-\\_   
  
They don't usually go to parties. Practice and school take up too much time and energy, not to mention the games, but when they do, they make it count.   
  
There's booze and loud music and stupid parents that leave houses in the hands of teenagers during the weekend. There is beer that is a bit too warm and vodka to do shots and pretend they don't taste vile and burn your throat on the way down.   
  
Kent is two beers past tipsy and feels loose and warm and just a little dizzy, but in a good way. At least until he stumbles and falls right into Jack's lap.   
  
"My prince!" Kent sighs dramatically, playing it off for everyone to laugh. Someone takes a picture of them and Jack must be drunk too because he's smiling and everyone can see it and it lights up the room and Kent wants to kiss it so no one else can see it. Instead, he smooches Jack's cheek loudly before getting up. "Always there to save me!"   
  
Kent definitely doesn't think of a large hand at the small of his back and grinding down on a lap when he fists his cock later that night, his head still spinning from the alcohol and his ears ringing.   
  
-_/   
  
Christmas is... uneventful. He goes home and helps his Ma out and plays with his little sister and visits his Dad and goes for runs every morning and works out every evening. The rink is too far away to go every day, but that's no excuse to slack off.   
  
He may cheat a little bit on the diet though.   
  
His sister loses a front tooth (and jesus, the other one hasn't even fully grown yet, this year's pictures will be ones for the records) and Kent gets to play Tooth Fairy and Santa in the same night. He's not complaining though. His sister's excitement over the phone at that first tooth can't compare to the way her eyes light up in the morning because  _ did you see Ken' they were both here and the tea cups are used do you think they are friends Ken' maybe they had a tea party and maybe they invited more people too Ken' are you listening to me why are you laughing?!  _   
  
\\_-   
  
New year's Eve is a sad affair of watching the ball drop and not thinking of his best friend's lips, especially not when that best friend sends him a rare text at precisely midnight, like he was counting down with his finger on the send button.   
  
_ Happy new year, Kenny. _   
  
\\_-_/   
  
Something changed over the holidays because Kent has never seen Jack like this.   
  
"Zimms, come on, let's go."   
  
Kent is panting, his legs shaking slightly. They've stayed behind after practice, as always. They've been at it for more than usual though, over an hour longer.    
  
Kent feels faintly like throwing up.   
  
Jack looks at him and nods.   
  
"You can go." he says, as if Kent needed his fucking permission, and skates off again with the puck.   
  
Kent watches helplessly, swears under his breath, and speeds after him.   
  
It takes actually tackling Jack onto the ice and wrestling the stick out of him for him to stop.   
  
"You. Are done. For tonight." Kent pants, punctuating each word with a weak jab to Jack's chest.   
  
They stay in silence like that, Kent on top of Jack, both of them huffing and puffing on the ice, making eye contact. It's not until Jack breaks it with a tiny nod and looks away that Kent relaxes and collapses next to him on his back.   
  
_/-\\_   
  
He gets another text that night.   
  
_ Thank you _ .    
  
-_/   
  
The season is going well, really fucking well, in fact. Kent doesn't wanna jinx it or get too far ahead of himself, but they may actually have a shot at winning this thing.   
  
He and Jack are on a point streak, there has not been a single game since Christmas where at least one of them has scored with an assist from the other.    
  
It feels fucking amazing, like they are on top of the world.   
  
Couldn't last forever, though.   
  
Kent knows this, but it still feels like shit. The game was rough, the last in a series of away games, and they just couldn't make the plays connect. They were tired, the brutal pace was too much and the more they tried, the worse it got.   
  
It's just one game of many, but it doesn't taste any less like defeat because of it.   
  
\\_-   
  
He wakes up that night and finds the other bed in the hotel room empty, a strip of light shining beneath the bathroom door. Kent guesses that's what woke him up and tries to go back to sleep, but he can't. He lies awake in bed, listening to the sounds of...   
  
Well, to the not-sounds of Zimms in the bathroom, really. The guy has been in there for at least five minutes now and hasn't made a sound. And it's stupid, maybe he's just taking a dump and it won't come out, but the lack of noise is kind of freaking Kent ot for no reason, so he gets up and walks towards the bathroom and knocks softly.   
  
"Zimms?"   
  
There's no reply, maybe he went to get something from the vending machine and forgot to turn off the light. Except his key is still on the bedside table.   
  
"Zimms, feel free to tell me to fuck off if you're shitting, but if you don't say anything in the next three seconds, I'm coming in."   
  
This is so stupid. Kent doesn't know why he's freaking out, but he is. There is something wrong and it's bad and Jack hasn't said a word and fuck it fuck this Kent's coming in.   
  
The fluorescent light is too bright and hurts his eyes, but he doesn't care. Jack is curled up next to the toilet, drenched in sweat, and shaking. One moment Kent's standing and the next his knees are hitting the cold tiles in front of Jack and he's taking Jack's shaking, cold, clammy hands in his.   
  
"Jack. Jack, what's wrong, talk to me." he says, tightening his grip.   
  
Jack looks up, shakes his head a bit, tries to take a breath but it sounds ragged and wrong, like he can't get air into his lungs so he keeps trying and trying and trying, his eyes wide and wild.   
  
Kent needs to calm down. Calm down and think.   
  
This looks like a panic attack. He's only seen them on TV, but this must be it and it's so much fucking worse in real life because there are no magically appearing hot doctors here to save his friend and he has no idea what to do because Jack is hyperventilating and... He needs to breathe.   
  
"Jack, listen to me, you need to breathe." Kent feels like a tool saying it, as if Jack didn't already know he was choking. He lets go of Jack's hands (and they immediately reach for him again, but he's not thinking about that) and cups his face, bringing their foreheads together. "You are going to be fine, okay? Just breathe for me, Jack. Just for me. Match my breath. You can do it, Jack. I know you can."    
  
Kent whispers encouragement and counts their breaths, praying to all the gods he doesn't believe in that this works.    
  
It feels like forever until he hears Jack's stuttering breathing match his own and feels the pulse beneath his hands slow down to a steady rhythm.    
  
Jack's still shaking a bit and holding onto Kent's pyjama shirt though, so Kent has no intention of letting go just yet.   
  
\\_-_/   
  
He doesn't know how long they stay like that, but his knees hurt and pop when they get up. He walks Jack to bed, watches as he takes a pill from a prescription bottle he retrieves from his bag and swallows it dry.   
  
Kent nods, squeezes Jack's shoulder before heading back to his bed.   
  
Except.    
  
Jack reaches out and catches his wrist, scoots on the bed so there is room for two (not really, they are young, but they are still hockey players), and looks up at Kent for a moment before looking away. His hand stays though.    
  
"Yeah. Yeah, all right." Kent hears himself say as he gets into bed with his best friend and person he has the biggest, gayest crush on. This is the worst idea ever, he thinks as he spoons him despite being the shorter one of the two.   
  
He's never slept better.

 

_/-\\_

 

Kent wakes up feeling warm, too warm, but not unpleasantly so. Also, the rising sun’s light that filters through the curtains and is hitting him right across the eyes. That's less pleasant.

 

He shifts onto his back to turn his head away and keep sleeping but there is a groan from somewhere below his armpit and an arm around his hips that tightens and-

 

Shit.

 

_ Shit.  _

 

Kent freezes for a moment, heart pounding. Just as he looks down, Jack looks up from where he's - _ jesus-  _ fucking  _ wrapped around Kent like a fucking octopus.  _

 

And Jack looks… He looks warm and sleepy and peaceful and if Kent wasn't fucked already (which he fucking was), he sure is now.

 

“Kenny…”

 

Jack's voice is raspy and rough and his breath ghosts over Kent's ribs and fuck.  _ Fuck. _

 

Kent throws an arm over his eyes, waiting for the moment that ruins everything. He doesn't want to look, doesn't want to see his life splayed out on the bed as it shatters to pieces.

 

Jack moves away slowly, sits up. Kent doesn't need his eyes to know that, his side is cold and the bed dips when Jack gets up. He hears him walk to the bathroom, piss, wash his hands, splash water onto his face. He hears the shuddering sigh and if knuckles made noise when gripping the counter hard enough to turn white, Kent would hear that too. 

 

The bed dips again and Kent looks, he has to. Jack is sitting on the edge, hunched over, defeated. His hands fall limp between his legs, a prescription bottle held loosely in one of them. 

 

“I’m-” Jack starts, voice no less rough than earlier. Kent can see his lips press into a thin line. “I have anxiety. Bad anxiety.”

 

“There's a good kind?”

 

Jack snorts softly, shaking his head a bit. His lips don't quirk up into a smile, but Kent still counts that as a win.

 

“You can't… Please don't tell anyone.” Jack breathes and he sounds  _ wrecked.  _ “If anyone finds out I… They will… I won't…”

 

Kent can see his breathing speeding up, his hands shaking, and this is starting to look like last night all over again. 

 

“Hey. Hey, no, look at me, Zimms.”

 

Kent sits up and scoots over on the bed, rests one hand on Jack's back, curls the other around his shaking forearm. 

 

“I won't, okay? I won't tell anyone.”

 

Jack nods weakly, taking measured breaths. Kent can almost hear him counting in his head. Eventually, Jack slumps against him, forehead resting on Kent's shoulder, and sighs.

 

“I’m sor-”

 

“Don't you  _ dare _ .” Kent all but growls, and pulls Jack closer, both arms wrapped around him. He feels Jack nod on his shoulder, nose nudging against his collarbone. 

 

Kent shivers, ducks his head to brush his lips on Jack's hair. Its thick, coarser than Kent's own fine hair. Kent thinks that maybe if his hair was thicker, had more weight to it, then maybe it wouldn't stick up in stupid cowlicks so much.

 

He likes Jack's hair, wants to be able to play with it, comb his fingers through it. He likes Jack, wants him, wants to be able to want him unabashedly. 

 

“I’m gay.”

 

Kent's voice is surprisingly steady, sounds more sure than he feels. Well, he's sure he's gay, he's really fucking not sure about the whole situation though. 

 

Jack isn't saying anything, isn't moving and Kent can't see his face, can't read him like this.

 

“I won't tell about you if you don't tell about me. So, uh, I guess this is like an insurance.” he jokes weakly, heart in his throat.  He can feel a warm, humid puff of air against his t-shirt and then Jack is raising his head and his lips are pressed against Kent’s and it’s tentative and clumsy and it’s everything. Kent makes a broken sound at the back of his throat and then it’s frantic. Their mouths turn hungry, hands needy. Kent falls on his back and Jack follows him, easy, hands on either side of Kent’s head, hips grinding down. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. Kent’s going to die and he’s absolutely fine with it.

 

The shrill alarm coming from the bedside table startles both of them, making Jack jump back.

 

“I’ll uh… shower first.” Kent stammers, feeling his ears burn as he stumbles out of bed and hurries into the bathroom. 

 

Even after he slumps against the locked door, his heart still feels like it's going to beat out of his chest.

 

-_/

 

Things go back to normal after that. Kind of. 

 

Zimms and Parse, the unstoppable duo with their no-look-one-timer, inseparable on and off the ice. 

 

They don't talk about that night, about that morning. 

 

Kent is fine with it.

 

Yeah.

 

He’s completely fine. 

 

\\_-

 

Kent is not fine. He is so far away from fine and okay and not bad that he can’t even remember what those are like.

 

He is well and truly and thoroughly fucked.

 

Not literally, which is part of the problem.

 

Jack is… he’s figuring his shit out, yeah? Kent knows this, he  _ fucking knows _ . So he doesn’t say a word about the pills and staying on his phone until he hears soft snoring or holding Jack until he falls asleep because he’s shaking too hard. He goes back to his bed before the sun rises and he tells himself that’s fine. Jack is handling it, he just needs a little extra help sometimes and Kent would never say no.

 

Maybe that’s his problem.

 

Because somewhere along the line things went very wrong and Kent can’t remember the last time he saw Jack’s eyes sharp and alive out of the ice.

 

But he promised Jack he wouldn’t tell. And Jack’s handling it, he’s figuring it out.

 

Kent can’t afford to stop believing that because he’s not fine but he will be because Jack will be too.

 

\\_-_/

 

“Kenny…”

 

The word rolls out of Jack’s mouth lazily, Kent can almost see it. Like in Alice in Wonderland, when the caterpillar or slug or whatever is talking and smoking and the smoke turns into words and he blows them on Alice’s face, which,  _ rude _ .

 

“You’re a very rude caterpillar, Zimms.” Kent giggles.

 

He’s so high.

 

It’s amazing.

 

Mark’s older sister had made pot brownies and shared them with the team because she’s awesome like that. And look, they didn’t do shit at first so they went home but now it’s been like an hour and holy fuck, Mark’s sister is a goddess among men and they don’t deserve her or her pot brownies. Kent thinks he loves her. If she had a dick, he’d suck her off like… like an anteater eating ants. But sexy, because anteaters aren’t sexy and Kent is the sexiest cocksucker who hasn’t sucked cock yet.

 

“Am not.” Jack pouts, a confused but still indignant frown on his face. Kent can’t remember why it’s there anymore, but he wants to kiss it off anyway.

 

So he does.

 

This time it’s Jack that makes a strangled sound and presses into it. And shit, yeah, Kent wants Jack to make more sounds, he wants him to make all of the sounds. He also wants to suck Jack’s dick.

 

Kent kneels before Jack and there isn’t that much space between the couch and the coffee table, but he honestly could not care any less right now. Jack has a dick, Kent wants that dick in his mouth, there is too much fabric between him and the dick. That is a problem that must be solved ASAP and thank fuck Jack is wearing sweatpants because he wouldn’t have the patience or coordination to deal with jeans right now.

 

Not that he has much patience right now, seeing as he has shoved his head in Jack’s crotch and is mouthing at it through the fabric anyway, but… yeah. Sweatpants aren’t the nicest thing to lick ever though, they make his tongue dry and scratchy and they don’t taste nice and are a bit gross, so he pushes them down along with Jack’s boxers, enough to free his cock.

 

Which, by the way,  _ wow _ .

 

Kent rests his head on Jack’s hip and just… looks at it, half hard and resting on Jack’s belly, right in front of his face. It’s kind of adorable but in a ridiculously hot way. Kent brings up his hand and cups it gently, rolling the foreskin back to expose the head and forward again. It’s so soft and velvety and warm and yeah, Kent wants his mouth on that right the fuck now.

 

The noise Jack makes when Kent closes his mouth over it is the best thing he has ever heard.

 

He inches down slowly, taking it all into his mouth, relishing the heavy feeling on his tongue. He can feel Jack growing in his mouth, but he likes that right now he can take all of him. Eventually he pulls back though, tongues around the foreskin. He can dip his tongue in it and it’s fascinating how Jack reacts to that, one hand curling around the back of Kent’s neck and fuck, yes, please. Kent moans, sucks him down again until he can’t anymore. Jack’s fully hard now and there is no way he can deepthroat on his first blowjob, but oh how Kent wishes he could. His jaw is already aching though and he’s getting drool everywhere, which is kinda gross. He pulls off with a slurp and the way Jack’s hips chase after his mouth is everything. Kent moves down to tongue at the base of his cock, at his balls, as he strokes him.

 

“ _ Merde _ , Kenny… I’m, ah....”

 

Kent looks up and Jack is the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. He’s flushed, sweaty, his lower lip raw from biting it and his eyes are all kinds of wild and beautiful.

 

“Yeah… Yeah, come on, Jack.” Kents groans, hand speeding up. He rests his head back on Jack’s hip, mouths at it absently. He can feel Jack’s muscles tensing beneath his lips, legs shaking and Kent can’t hold off anymore, he has to squeeze his own dick because he may die if he doesn’t. 

 

“Are you…  _ fuck! _ ” Jack’s voice is strained and oh,  _ oh _ , there it is. Kent watches fascinated as Jack spills over his fist, over his own stomach. He watches it spurt onto the shirt and dribble over his fingers and it’s the hottest thing Kent has ever seen because this is Jack’s dick in his hand, he made  _ that _ happen, and Jack is panting and his hand is clenching in Kent’s hair and Kent is still squeezing his dick over his jeans and he’s there, he’s coming in his pants like the teenager he is, harder than he ever has before. He bites Jack’s skin because he needs to do something with his mouth because it’s… it’s so much, it’s all so fucking much.

 

He will lick the mark later, soothe it with his tongue, but right now he can only pant, forehead against Jack’s abs.

 

Jack makes a mewling sound, overly sensitive, when Kent moves his hand away, replaces it with his tongue to lick him clean. It doesn’t taste good. It tastes kind of really bad, actually, but Kent’s into it. He can blame it on being high, whatever.

 

“Kenny…”

 

Jack’s voice is soft and the hand in Kent’s hair tugs gently and he goes with it, feeling boneless. Jack pulls him onto his lap carefully and kisses him and fuck, he can taste himself, Kent’s sure, and he would get hard again if he wasn’t so sleepy.

 

It’s lazy, the way they kiss. Kent doesn’t think he’s high anymore, but he still loses track of time completely. He can tell it’s been a while though, because when he pulls back to tuck Jack back into his sweatpants, the sun is low and paints the room orange and soft and Kent wishes they could stay like this forever.

 

_/-\\_

 

Kent’s fine.

 

He actually believes it this time.

 

Right now the only thing that matters is how Jack will make a point of brushing their hands together when walking down the street, how there’s always one bed left unused when they room together, how Kent knows Jack Zimmermann inside and out because he let him in.

 

Kent knows the season is ending, knows Jack will go first in the draft, but  _ this _ , this thing they have, it feels right, it feels infinite, so he doesn’t worry. They have forever to figure it out.

 

They are Zimms and Parse, they will always be.

 

They will be fine. 

**Author's Note:**

> look, I was gonna write more, but... they are happy, you know? so let's just pretend they live happily ever after and don't suffer ever okay? let's just pretend I can protect these big gay babies from all pain.
> 
> I have a tumblr and twitter, both of them are kissthegoalie (because sweet baby chowder, duh. that child deserves all of the kisses). hmu wherever and whenever man, I am a bored individual that likes to avoid responsibilities by thinking of fictional hockey players' butts.


End file.
